Gift from a Mentor
by Daughter moon
Summary: GlorfindelElrond Slash, Glorfindel has returned to Middle Earth and arrived at Imladris. His relationship with Elrond has grown. Now Elrond gives him a gift that will help him become the warrior he needs to be.


**Disclaimer:** J.R.R.Tolkien owns all rights to Lord of the Rings  
**Rating**: R  
**Notes**: This is Elrond/Glorfindel, written for the Imladris slash community on LiveJournal.  
**Beta**: AmandaSaitou  
Disclaimer: J.R.R.Tolkien is the creator of Elrond and Glorfindel (though not the way I write them), and has my undying gratitude.

Gift from a Mentor

When Elrond and Glorfindel had first begun sharing the duties of Imladris ( unofficially of course ) there were still a few details needing to be sorted out. For one thing, Glorfindel had not lived long in his new body and was still slightly awkward. It was strange to see the tall, blond elf constantly tripping over his own feet. The non-elf visitors to Imladris laughed over the ungraceful elf, commenting on how rare it was to see one of the immortals unsteady. Secondly, Glorfindel, while perfectly happy to help out with paperwork, cooking and healing, was not really suited for the job. He had never been secretary, chef or healer; he was a warrior. He had always been a warrior.

So Elrond took matters into his own hands. Normally, he would have allowed a member of the household to teach again the skills once ingrained in the long muscles of the elf's body, but not this time. Although it had been only six short years since Glorfindel had returned to Arda, the two had quickly become close friends. Then more than friends. It was highly unusual, Elrond mused, for two elves to rush into commitment in this way. With eternity to forge familial bonds, even courting could last up to a millennia. The time taken to relearn balance showed the time gap clearly. Hobbit, man, dwarf – they all learned balance within a few years. Not Glorfindel. With a soft chuckle, Elrond remembered the astonishment of his children as his two-year old adopted son walked a few trembling steps across the Hall of Fire. Both of them were unusual, though, Elrond thought, as he stepped lightly along the well-trodden path to the Anduin. He had risen from the post of herald to Lord of a thriving community, upon the long-ago wishes of his lover and king, while Glorfindel had died and risen again; a new life granted so rarely by the Valar.

But this chain of thoughts was beside the point. All that needs to be known is that Glorfindel joined Elrond in Imladris, where they quickly became fast friends and eventually lovers. Which is why Elrond was seeing to this task himself – the re-education of Glorfindel's battle instincts. A sad thing to need to teach to anyone, perhaps, but Glorfindel was one of the best, and war marched again around Mirkwood. It could not be long before the fighting came North to Imladris. So Elrond honed his own skills and prepared to teach.

"Glorfindel," he called as he broke away from the trees barricading Imladris against the river. Glorfindel waved cheerfully to him from his perch on a rock in the middle of the Anduin. The fast flowing water sloshed over the smooth stone, swirling around Glorfindel's boots. The blond elf looked up at Elrond, who stood uncertainly on the bank of the river.

"Look what I found," he held up for perusal a small, perfectly formed circle of stone stars. Th river had buffeted it against the grainy sand lining the riverbed and rubbed it away to form it's strange patterns. "It's you," he said.

Elrond was understandably confused. "What?"

"It's you. Your name: Star-dome."

Elrond smiled, "You remind me of an elfling sometimes, Meleth." He said. "Finding such happiness in every little thing. I fear I have outgrown such pleasures."

Glorfindel reached out and pulled Elrond onto the stone, forcing him to jump slightly to bridge the distance. "You have it in you still. The happiness. You just need to look for it."

"Where?" asked Elrond.

Glorfindel thought a moment. "Do you remember the day the kitchen cat had kittens?"

"Of course, such lovely little things."

"You laughed then. When the little black one staggered blindly toward you and licked your fingers."

Elrond smiled at the memory. "It was a very happy day. Arwen had come home, Celebrian was still with us…" His face turned sombre once more.

"We have all lost loved ones. I have lost an entire life. That does not stop us from carrying on and finding our happiness elsewhere." They sat in companionable silence for a few moments.

"Thank you, Glorfindel,"

"My pleasure. Now, why are we here?"

Elrond drew in a deep breath. "I need you to relearn weaponry. You knew it once before – it will come back easily once we start. But we have to start somewhere. I brought you this." Elrond shoved a silk-wrapped bundle hastily towards his lover, hoping against hope that he had done the right thing. Beside him, he could hear the dry rasp of soft fibres slowly pulling away from the sharp blade.

"My sword," whispered Glorfindel. "Oh Meleth, this is my sword!"

Elrond turned back towards him. "Yes, I went to your grave, where your weapons were stored. I removed this, thinking perhaps that you would be more comfortable with something familiar."

Glorfindel's face broke into a wide grin. A look of wonder on his face, he turned his gaze again upon the shining blade and the golden flower hammered into the silver metal, marking his status in the long lost House of the Golden Flower. "My first sword…"

They fought hard that day, the welcome weight of familiar metal in Glorfindel's hand lending new fluidness to his movements. Elrond watched him slip into the calm awareness of his surroundings that had carried him through so many battles. They did not stop until Elrond's own mithril blade was swept cleanly from his fingers.

"Congratulations," smiled Elrond. "The pupil has surpassed the teacher!"

Glorfindel laughed. "Then maybe we should swap roles." Taking Elrond's hand, he dragged the elven lord back to the comfort of their home.

Elrond didn't remember his bed being so far away, but Glorfindel insisted that his chambers were closer. Once again, Elrond was reminded that normal elves did not rush in this manner. They strolled leisurely; they examined each point of interest. They did not dash through the halls, heedless of the beautiful tapestries and ornate vases that surrounded them.

Nethertheless, Elrond was glad when they entered Glorfindel's rooms and tumbled onto the neatly made bed. The sheets were soft and comfortable; the light blue contrasted by darker stitching proclaiming Quenya blessings for restful sleep. Elrond doubted they would rest tonight.

Glorfindel placed his blade reverently on his carved beech desk, ensuring that it would not slip and fall. Then he turned back to Elrond, who was lying on the bed beside the window. Slowly, methodically, he began to remove the pale blue tunic that had quickly become his everyday attire. Elrond watched him, eyes becoming darker than their usual brown as the pupils widened to engulf the chocolate irises.

Glorfindel, completely divested of his clothes, climbed onto the low bed to sit beside Elrond. Gently, he removed the silver circlet of office from his forehead and tugged the brown velvet robes over his head. Placing both carefully on a chair, he allowed Elrond to wriggle out of the cloth obscuring his lower half before beginning to undo the intricate braids adorning the dark hair.

Elrond settled back against the pillows, reflecting that they wore far too much clothing between them. Considering the amount of time it took to remove circlets, robes, undergarments, braids and all the rest of it, the night was half-over already!

"Why do you wear so much?" Glorfindel asked, in unconscious echo of Elrond's thoughts.

"The price of power," Elrond replied with a smile. "Come here."

Glorfindel abandoned the complicated braids in favour of settling himself over his lover's body, skin to skin. Both were so pale, blending seamlessly into one another… Just as lovers should. Their hair, however, was a study in contrast. Glorfindel's Noldor heritage gave him almost white-blond hair, while Elrond was as dark as the cat that tormented the kitchen staff every morning.

Elrond ran one hand through the tangled mess of Glorfindel's hair. "You should tie it back before practising swordplay," he chided.

"Sorry," Glorfindel mumbled unrepentedly into his neck. Elrond laughed, both at the insincerity in Glorfindel's voice, and at the tickling sensation of his breath across the soft skin.

Glorfindel smiled in answer against Elrond's skin, knowing that Elrond sometimes preferred just touching, rather than the full penetration the younger elves giggled about. The young ones never understood the full implications of sex until they experienced it for themselves – and even then some of them were inclined to immaturity.

Elrond combed thoughtfully through Glorfindel's hair, recognising the sudden flood of thought that caught them both unawares. They thought too much, the two of them. They were not as sedate as normal elves, no, but neither were as single-minded as one would expect. Gradually, Glorfindel came back to Arda, and started a gentle, feather-light stroking motion up and down Elrond's side. Elrond arched into the touch with a soft sigh.

Glorfindel moved slightly, to better access his lover's body, and felt a familiar hardness pressing into his stomach. "Enjoying yourself," he asked wryly.

"Mmm," Elrond murmured. "Of course. Or do you feel you are underachieving?" He broke off with a soft yelp of laughter when Glorfindel tickled him beneath his ribs.

"No, I believe I am achieving my full potential, my Lord," Glorfindel told him, pressing a kiss under his chin. Elrond kissed him properly as he withdrew.

"Yes, I believe so too."

This was the way it often was. They rarely experienced the sudden outburst of passion that took the younger ones by surprise. Their lovemaking was slow, gentle, comfortable. Exploding peacefully against each other, coating their skin and bed with white essence. This was how it was the first time, and this is how it is going to be again.

And when a different pupil receives their first gift from a loving mentor, their love, if not their gift, will never be the same.

**End**


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